


The East Wind Blows

by Grattonsmith



Category: Avengers: The Initiative, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Loneliness, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Promise there will be a happy ending!, Sassy Darcy Lewis, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10082165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grattonsmith/pseuds/Grattonsmith
Summary: Clint had a plan. A really good, solid plan. Unfortunately for him, Fate doesn't give a shit. Darcy never had a plan. Darcy just went where she fancied regardless of consequences. Neither one was prepared for the other. No matter how hard they tried to avoid the inevitable.--------Soulmarks and wings and avenger domesticity. Self loathing, and sass. Really what could go wrong?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Flight Ready](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7353286) by [SteeleHoltingOn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleHoltingOn/pseuds/SteeleHoltingOn). 



> This is my first post on here so all I can say is bare with me! I hope you enjoy! I do intend this to be quite a long one so forgive me if you're here for an instant solution. 
> 
> I got the idea for this from a fantastic story on here called Flight Ready by SteeleHoltingOn. Go check it out, it's phenomenal! 
> 
> Disclaimer - I do not own any Marvel content, though I wish to god I did! 
> 
> Thank you for clicking and I hope you enjoy!

  He was used to this. Being alone. Bucky had Steve, Thor had Jane, Tony had Pepper, Bruce had Nat, and he had… well he had a porcelain sink and his reflection. His black hands seemed offensive against the crisp starkness of the bathroom. He raised his gaze to his reflection. The crinkled, war torn lines around his eyes, highlighted by the surrounding dirt and soot. His hair, stuck up at deranged angles. The dried blood congealed on the side of his head and slathered across his forehead and cheekbone wasn’t his…he hoped. His brow strained, and with a conscious effort he relaxed them from his permanent scowl. His nose looked wrong. Bent in a way it wasn’t a couple days ago. He flared his nostrils, dried blood crackled painfully. His mouth, grim. A straight line, thin, broken by a nasty cut on his bottom lip. He heaved a sigh, which strained against his screaming ribs. He looked himself in the eye, and saw the usual. Dead, lifeless, hard and cold. He flexed his hands, his knuckles cracking from over use. His hands, scarred, swollen, and filthy. He raised them to his nose and met his reflections eyes again. _Fuck this,_ he thought. With a steady inhale, a snap of the wrists, and a resounding crack, fresh blood streamed down his chin. Checking his work, his nose looked more like it used to – somewhat straight, instead of straight up wrong.

  He flicked his gaze over to his wings. The usual soft downy grey, was a mottled mess of red, brown, and black. His left wing hung in a defeated way, and panged with pain with every twitch. He made a mental note to get it checked by medical – _yay!_ He hated medical, the way they fussed and poked and prodded.

  The shower beckoned him, though the thought stripping made him reel. He limped over, his knee flaring with the pressure and bend. He pressed the touch pad to start the jets, and adjusted the temperature accordingly. With one final heave, he limped under the spray. The water pooling around his boots quickly turned a morbid mix black and brown. His back found the tiles and slowly he slid down them, careful not to jostle his wing in the process.

  There he sat, staring blankly at his fingers. The murky water filled the entire sunken shower. The brilliance of the porcelain marred by his imperfection once again. The warmth of the jets slowly worked on his knotted muscles, and gradually his shoulders relaxed. The relief was magnificent, however, now that his shoulders weren’t carrying the weight of his wings anymore, his ribs began to protest with vehemence.

 He had no idea how long he sat there, staring at nothing. He’s used to this. He’s used to being alone. Sure, he had an entire team, but in their vulnerability they sought comfort in pairs. That’s what normal people do. He scratched a hand across his hair in attempt to loosen the blood there. None of his team had wings.  In fact, not many people on the planet did. Flyers were rare these days. A ‘beautiful mutation’, was the media tagline. ‘Mutation’ was such an ugly word, though it was nicer than a lot of the other words the populous would use.

  He shifted his right wing around, and gently fanned out the feathers. Slowly, he started to brush away the dirt and blood. He repeated the process with his left, though at a lot slower pace, careful not to jostle it too much. When both were his usual grey, he slowly began to strip. He made quick work of the rest of his body.

  Shutting off the jets, he wrapped himself in a towel, and stood in front of the dryer to dry his wings. He would usually let them air dry on the balcony, whilst enjoying a brief siesta. However, it was the middle of a New York winter, and the middle of the night. The dryer would have to do.

  When he was content that they wouldn’t drench his sheets, he limped to his bedroom and eyed his bed. Large enough to encompass his 8-foot wingspan, clean enough to smell like fresh linen. He sunk into the sheets, ensconced in perfect white. He hadn’t been to Medical so he knew he would bleed a little on the sheets. He felt a pang a guilt for the stains he would cause, but hey! He wasn’t perfect.

  He sighed again, the silence deafening around him. He was alone. He was used to this. To everyone else – his team - he was cheeky, confident, full of smiles, and nothing ever ruffled his feathers… pun intended. Though in that perfect bed, with a bent wing and broken bones and torn body, he was alone, scared, and hollow. The echoes of every arrow he’d ever nocked which inevitably hit their target, replayed in his mind, and mimicked his heart beat.

  Clint was alone. Clint was used to this. This is how it had always been, and how it always will be.

  A sudden burning pain on the inside of his right wrist caught his attention. Clint brought his hand to his face, sourcing a reason for the burn. His eyes worked better in the darkness, and so he didn’t miss the harsh scrawl of words appearing before his eyes.

 

“Fuck this hurts, don’t let me die”.

 

The severe points in the ‘n’s that made it look like and upturned ‘v’, and the swooping loops of the ‘f’, coupled with the gentle slope of the general writing, made for an all-around elegant finesse of the mark. The words stung. Clint had heard of soul marks before, he’d seen a few in his army days. They were meant to be the first words your soul mate would ever said to you. Usually they were generic niceties, meant to charm and beguile their intended. Not this. Never this. For a minute he allowed himself to hope, he thought maybe it could be a joke. He twisted his arm and wrist to get different perspectives, hoping that changing the angle would change their meaning. He sighed. He really couldn’t think of the joke. He barked a laugh at the irony. He gently brought his wrist to his chest, his finger tracing the loops and points.

  Clint wasn’t alone. His finger drifted over the punishing points of the ‘die’. Well, Clint would be alone, because he was somehow going to screw this up. With his finger retracing its path back over the words meant for him, that’s when decided he would take it. There was someone out there, who by the sounds of it would hate him – but there was someone, and that is more than he had a minute ago. He decided that he would do everything he could to not screw this up, though the proof that he would was written plain as day on his wrist. He would try though; he would try his hardest to fuck with fate because that is just who he was. That was hopeful Clint. Real Clint knew that he was taking a flight of fancy. So when he inevitably tumbled back to reality, he vowed that whomever it was, that regardless of the inevitable, he would protect them. For now, and for always. He was alone, but that didn’t mean that they had to be.

  Maybe if he just didn’t say anything to anyone new that he met, then that would fuck with fate enough to give him this grace and perhaps they wouldn’t die. Clint knew this was ridiculous, but he logged it as plan B – maybe plan A, he wasn’t quite decided. Don’t talk, always protect… in alternating order, depending on the weather and his level of caffeine intake that day. Maybe he could go as far as plan C – avoid any new person; he knew though that this would be difficult what with the loveable puppies that Thor and Stark were. Plan D – avoid Nat until coping mechanisms are in place.

 With some form of plan, the continued mapping his new mark, and to the background noise of his aches and pains, Clint drifted into a restless sleep. Alone.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. All comments welcome! Constructive criticism and pointers! If you leave me love, I'll love you back


	2. Chapter 1. Earthbound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind words and support on the prologue, it does mean alot. 
> 
> I wanted to get this one out asap, university deadlines are looming, and I couldn't just leave this neglected for 4 weeks without showing some effort. 
> 
> Also, some inspiration for this comes from the fantastic writing of West Wing. If you haven't watched it, fully recommend a binge watch.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Chapter I

  Darcy knew that today was going to be a bad day. She just knew. Call it waking up on the wrong side of the bed if you will but god, she was in a bad mood and she was adamant that the world and their dog would know it. When her feet touched the ground as she grumbled her resent that morning, she knew then that she should have just buried herself under her covers and gone on strike. No amount of coffee and bribing would make this day any better.

  _Don’t trust shield they said_! Well… no one quite said that. Darcy had made that her own mantra after she had never gotten her iPod back. She took a healthy gulp of her coffee as she stalked toward the terminal which was calling their flight. She hated airports - particularly Heathrow – but that might have been something to do with her mood.

  Usually, Darcy loved travelling. Since growing up in a Philadelphia, she never would have imagined that her life would change so drastically. If you had asked her a couple of years ago, she would have said that travelling to Virginia for college at Culver, and then New Mexico for the internship that no one wanted, was the most adventurous thing she had ever done. Now she can safely say that her best friend’s boyfriend is a demigod; aliens exist; so do jackbooted thugs with a power complex; she’s a ninja with a taser; and she can drive like a pro in cities. People would argue the last one, but her confidence in her skills never wavers, and she can 9 times out of 10 shout them down.

  “Last call for gate 9, the 12:20 flight from London to New York, British Airways. Last call for ga-”

“Oh my god, will you stop dragging your feet and hurry up!” Jane spat out, without even turning to look. Her gait lengthened and she marched ahead; a few touristy type people with startled faces scrambled to get out of the way. Jane hadn’t been the same since Thor left again. Once was tough, twice was…shame on me? Or however that old idiom goes. Jane took it personally, though her rational side was always twittering away trying to consolidate the hurt. This meant that since destroying half of London, and saving the world, Jane had turned into - what most would consider – a bipolar mess. She wasn’t a relaxed person in the first place. However, now with the lack of her soulmates’ presence, and S.H.I.E.L.D throwing its weight around demanding that they relocate to New York – well suffice to say she was scary. Her hair was escaping from her usual perfect up do, the whites of her eyes a stark contrast to the deepening, purple bags surrounding them. The general ‘I’ve taken something’ aura about her… it was kind of comical in a really unfunny way. With a sigh, and heave of her Bergen surplus hand-me-down, Darcy trotted after her.

  Contemplating how much Jane was turning into Erik, and then worrying about whether whatever this mad scientist thing going on was contagious, Darcy handed over her passport at the gate. The attendant had a face of bored pleasantries as she looked from Darcy’s passport, to her face, back to passport and repeat. She was really taking a ridiculously long time with this.

“I know it was taken a few years ago, but I thought I was aging well!” Darcy remarked. The attendant – Delilah – pursed her lips and fixed Darcy with a withering stare. Darcy slapped her best ‘I’m the shit’ grin on and posed with mock innocence. From behind _Delilah,_ Jane barked a harsh cough, and pointedly raised her eyebrow at Darcy – _pack it in._

“Enjoy your flight, Miss. Lewis.” Delilah said, while thrusting the boarding pass and passport into Darcy’s hands.

“And you have a delightfully, dapper day, my dear, darling Delilah,” Darcy sang as she breezed past Jane. 

   Eventually, they got situated in the seats – _surely it wouldn’t hurt S.H.I.E.L.D to put them in first class but no…cheapskates –_ and with the plane in the air, Darcy rounded on Jane.

“So, tell me again why we’re doing this, because I’m really not seeing the logic, and usu-”

“Because we’ve been ordered to Darce. I really don’t understand what your problem is,” Jane intoned, raising her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Well I guess my problem is that whole ‘we were ordered’ bit,” Darcy said, acting out accentuated quote marks.

“They pay for my research; we go where they want us to.”

“Any drinks or food ladies?” An airhostess interrupted with a kind smile.

“Oh, can I have coffee and some chocolate?” Darcy made grabby hands as the hostess passed them over and moved on.

“You’re going to regret that coffee later, this is a long flight,” Jane remarked, eyeing the coffee with disdain. Feigning hurt, clutching a hand to her chest, Darcy took a sizeable swig, humming with pleasure at the burn of the steaming beverage.

“You really know how to hurt me Jane, one never regrets coffee, let alone implies that it’s a mistake!” Jane rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and settled in her seat, pointedly ignoring the hushing and calming noises Darcy made to her the cup in her hand.

 

  A few hours later, when the sun had gone down, they were somewhere over the Atlantic. Jane was sleeping soundly next to her, as were most people in the cabin. Dotted here and there was the luminescent light of the TV displays, but other than that, the cabin was dark. Darcy looked out of the window, the faint light of the moon dusting over the rippling clouds, she decided that she preferred flying at night. Flying at night, you cease to be earthbound, no longer attached to the worries of day-to-day life. The politics, and growing fears after the New York and now London alien attacks had been a constant rhetoric. But up here. Up in the clouds, with the inky black blanketing the sleeping, she was no longer burdened with practicality. She could wax lyrical, ponder the unknown, ask the pertinent question and it wouldn’t affect anything. She could be free, for just one moment. She could catch her breath from the never ceasing stress that was her life with Jane. Don’t mistake her, she loved it, and wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s given her a purpose. Well, as much of a purpose as an unpaid intern can claim. It had given her a family, albeit a dysfunctional, questionably sane family in Erik and Jane. It had broadened her horizons, to look beyond the stars, to all the realms that no one knew existed until recently. To regret any of it would be destructive and ridiculous.

   However, being up here, completely alone in the never ending black, she was just that – alone. Darcy didn’t like to think like this often, because she wasn’t alone. She had Jane, the sister she’d always wanted. She had Erik, the philosophical, dreaming grandfather figure. She had Thor to some extent, the big loveable oaf. She had her parents back home in Philly, who were busy with their own lives, and didn’t really worry about her…well that hadn’t changed throughout her childhood; she had learned from a young age how to bring herself up, how to protect herself. She knew they would be there for her, if she asked. Up here though, where she was no longer tied to the earth, she was as transient as the wind, and as evanescent as the clouds. She could be her; someone she hadn’t been for a long time. Always putting on a smile for the show must go on because it damn well wasn’t stopping any time soon. With everything that had happened over the past couple of years: all the world-ending scenarios, the breakdowns, the Avengers, life just wasn’t slowing down and the citizens of Earth were having a hard time keeping up. Every time something new shook the world – shook her – she would question if she, if humanity could do it again. With every time, she believes that this would reach the capacity for what humans could take. But now, drifting high above the clouds, looking up at the stars Darcy realised that that capacity may be – must be - endless. What with the incalculable situations that may be heading their way – her way. Just like the rest of humanity, she would pick herself up, and dust herself off, grit her teeth and say ‘what’s next’.

 

“What’s next,” she whispered, her breath fogging the window her forehead pressed against.

 

  Suddenly, there was a burning on her left wrist. So sharp, so sudden and so brief. Darcy hissed an inhale as she clutched at the site. As quick as it came, it disappeared. Removing her hand, she switched on the over-head light. A disgruntled groan came from behind but she ignored it, pulling up her sleeve to search for what the hell had caused that pain. _Maybe I’m dying, maybe it’s a heart attack._ Scanning the back of her hand, the back of her wrist, her forearm, she couldn’t see any sign of foul play. She ran her hand down it, nothing out of the ordinary. _Maybe I should wake Jane, ask her what the symptoms of a heart attack are._ She looked over to her sleeping friend, whose face had relaxed from its daily manic expression. She looked older, worry lines etched into her forehead. _Maybe not._ Turning back to her arm, she flexed her fingers making sure everything was working accordingly. She turned her arm over, and there imprinted upon her soft skin above her veins, was the source of the offending pain. 

 

“ **God fucking dammit you were told not to move** ”.

 

“Huh”, Darcy breathed to herself, “I guess that’s next.”

“Turn the light off!” Came a harsh whisper from behind.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not like any of us are having a crisis here,” she hissed back. She flicked the overhead light off, but continued to stare blankly into the dark, in the general direction of her wrist. Her fingers lightly grazed the harsh words, contained in small, square scripture. _Charming,_ she thought. Her soulmate was sick of her already, but he would learn quickly, and get used to it – or he would just have to accept the fact that he was going to be perpetually pissed off for the rest of his life. _Maybe he already is an angry person,_ her finger started tracing the letters. _Maybe he’ll decide I’m too much hassle._ She immediately pulled out of the reverie. _If he can’t handle me, he can’t have me, screw fate! You don’t own me!_ She yanked her sleeve down to cover the offending mark, settled in her seat and let her eyes drift out of the window again.

   She had wondered if she would ever get a mark. A lot of her friends growing up already had theirs. Sometimes, they had been funny, indicating a Hollywood style meet-cute. Sometimes they had been just general welcomes like ‘hi’. Darcy had always been the odd one out, with her blank skin. The mechanisms of what caused or determined soul marks were still up for debate. Religions claimed it was the power of which ever pantheon was in question; science proved, then disproved hypothesis after hypothesis, never settling on a final definitive conclusion; philosophy argued ontologically, theologically, and never provided any true answer; and recently, the alien conspiracy theorists that had been laughed out the room for decades, were finally being taken somewhat more seriously. Even still, no one could agree, no one could prove, so therefore whatever was left, no matter how illogical must be the truth. So it was… magic Darcy assumed. Late bloomers weren’t abnormal, but they weren’t considered by any means normal. There were two current theories. The first being that some souls were born compatible, some souls had to be made compatible. Through different experiences, the souls would eventually be in the right shape to call out to each other. The other theory was that late bloomers were born compatible, just like the rest. However, they wouldn’t bond until the moment when they needed their soulmate the most; the idea that a predetermined fate knew what would come next for you in life and say, ‘hey, this next part, you’re going to need some help’. Whichever it was, it was an inconvenience. If it was the latter, then how the hell are you supposed to find your soulmate, to help them through this supposed difficult time? Darcy sighed. _Far too much pressure._  

  After a while of imagining possible scenarios of meeting her soulmate, her eyes began to close. She wasn’t going to change just for her prospective soulmate. What are the chances of them even meeting, what with the way her life was going? She didn’t have time to deal with aggressive, overbearing, douchebag soulmates – she had to help Jane get her soulmate back, and then most likely stress about the world ending again. She had a busy schedule! Mr Do-As-I-say will just have to can it…then again though, if Mr Do-As-I-Say needed her help, who was she to deny that?

 

  With her final sigh before slumber, she brought her left arm close to her chest and hugged it close, her fingers curling and settling over her mark.

 

*

 

  The sun is an evil, evil fiend. It’s menacing and unforgiving and just plain rude. Darcy couldn’t remember what she had been dreaming about, but she knew she had enjoyed it. She checked the clock on the display TV – 15:00. She groaned, time zones really sucked. They had been in the air for nearly 8 hours, and yet somewhere she’d lost a day…or had she gained a day… She yanked her hat over her eyes, to block out the offensive sun.

“We’ll be landing soon,” Jane mused quietly, a hint of mockery in the voice. Darcy lifted the lip of her hat to peer one squinted eye at Jane, and poked out her tongue – full tantrum mode brought on by lack of caffeine. The seatbelt light pinged on, Darcy didn’t move.

“Don’t wanna”, she whined, adding a tiny foot stamp. Jane reached over, completely nonplussed - she’d seen this many times before - to sort out Darcy’s seat belt. This resulted in a ridiculous array of flapping arms, squawks, and a hissing whisper argument to boot. Darcy lost. Darcy’s seatbelt was buckled. Darcy had her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Darcy had a soul mark. The sudden memory of the night before, Darcy scrambled to clutch her wrist, checking to make sure it was covered. Jane would only fuss and moon – or be angry with Darcy about it due to the lack of Thor – it really could go either way, and Darcy didn’t fancy either reaction.

“You ok?” Jane asked, eyeing Darcy’s wrist.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just hate the landing you know?” Darcy half shrugged, and ducked her head. Jane mused a moment, her right eyebrow cocking, her gaze narrowing.

“You love flying Darce, all of it, the landing and all,” Jane tugged Darcy’s hat back to get a better look at her face, “since when did that change?”.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Darcy glanced out the window to see the New York skyline looming ever closer.

“Well…” her fingers toyed with hem of her sleeve, “when you’re ordered to go somewhere, it really takes the fun out of it.” Darcy flicked a look a Jane, who did not look convinced. If anything she looked bored with the same complaint. _The desired effect,_ Darcy thought, quenching the triumphant ‘you know I’m right’ look.

“Just play nice,” Jane sighed, turning away from Darcy.

“Or what, you’ll withhold my pay check?”

“I’ll hide the coffee.” A predatory grin spread across Jane’s face, as Darcy blanched.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh I would!”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

“Wou-”

“If you could make sure your seat’s and tables are in the upright position –

“Darcy put your tray up,”

“-And make sure all your seatbelts are fasten-”

“Promise me you won’t hide the coffee!”

“We’re coming into land now.”

 “Play nice and we’ll see.”

Darcy opened her mouth to retaliate but was cut off by the plane suddenly banking, and the halting thud of the wheels hitting the tarmac. After a few moments of silence, the engines began to power down as they made their way to their terminal stop.

  Looking out the window, Darcy could see JFK airport. She was officially in New York.

“Crap.”

 

*

 

  There was something exciting about waiting for your luggage on the racks. It was like winning a prize at a fair – a really bad, awful fair – but still, you won! Sometimes, the unlucky losers would find out that their luggage hadn’t got the memo, had taken the wrong flight and ended up on the other side of the world. Darcy heaved her Bergen off the rack, and glanced over to the business man who was becoming an angrier shade of red with every passing suitcase. She chuckled to herself, and shook her head, _some people are just meant to lose at the fair._ Jane had already began walking away, toward the exit. Stress made her oblivious to normal customs like, oh I don’t know, waiting for a friend. 

  When Darcy caught up with her, she didn’t say anything. She just marched alongside her friend, imagining that it was a scene from a badass music video; the ones with the strutting and the hair flipping, and the killer shoes and perfect sexy dresses. Except Darcy was wearing combat boots, scuffed and falling apart at the seams; jeans which were comfy through wear and tear; an over-sized jumper with holes; her hair was unkempt and was barely being contained by the black, slouching beanie. She didn’t look like was in a music video…maybe a GAP ad for the latest scruffy trend? Jane just looked… harangued. Scary. Definitely wouldn’t want to mess with her.

 They came to their exit gate, which was surrounded by families hugging, friends jumping up and down, various signs and flowers – one person had a balloon! Jane paused for a moment, scanning the crowd, Darcy contemplated the outcome if she stole the balloon. Jane took off again, and bee lined for a man in a conservative suit – he looked like someone’s passive uncle.  

“Dr Foster, Miss Lewis,” The extra from the men in black, extended his hand toward Jane who looked at it like it was a bad smell.

“Darcy is fine,” she said, clasping the hand in order to save the moment. Then she paused, recognition hitting her like a slap to the face. “Where’s my iPod?!” Agent Coulson’s lips twitched into something that could be considered a smile.

“If you would follow me,” and with that, Coulson span on his heel and began walking away.

“Where are we going? I have been told nothing other than to get on a plane and come here,” Jane asked, irritation obvious in her tone.

“Yeah! No please, no ‘is this ok’, just wham-bam thank you ma’am… so to speak,” Darcy put in hand actions to convey her meaning. Probably not the best place to be acting out sexual actions…in public…in an airport, but Agent man in black gave her no option. Well, that’s how she justified it. Coulson breezed past her comment as if she hadn’t spoken.

“You will be debriefed in the car,” and with that, the conversation was over.

 

  Jane and Darcy followed like scolded children and were ushered into the back of a black SUV.

“Well this isn’t dodgy,” Darcy muttered to Jane, whose thin lips and scrunched eyebrows were any indication, she’d just about had enough.

“So where’s the new digs?” Darcy asked, leaning forward in her seat to get a better view from the front of the car.

“You will be taken to the offices first to ensure you sign the correct paper work.” Jane huffed, Darcy groaned. “Then we will be taking you to your living accommodation at the Avenger tower.” The silence that followed was deafening.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy cleared her throat, wedging herself firmly between the two front seats, “I don’t think I heard you right.” A cocked eyebrow and a small smirk was the only reply that Coulson gave. _Power complex,_ Darcy thought, turning back to check on Jane. She was still. Staring blankly out of the window. If it wasn’t for the pulsing muscle of her jaw, Darcy would’ve thought Jane hadn’t have heard. _God damn it Thor, where are you._ Darcy settled back against her friend wordlessly and placed a comforting hand on her thigh. Jane shakily entwined her fingers through Darcy’s, and they stayed like that until they pulled up to a nondescript set of office blocks just off Time Square.  

 

*

 

 Signing an Amazon rainforest equivalent of contracts when jet lag hits, whilst checking that your friend isn’t about to finally snap is not an easy feat. _Fucking S.H.I.E.L.D,_ Darcy grumbled nonsensically to herself as she and Jane clambered back into the car. _Didn’t even have the common decency to offer us coffee._ The SUV pulled out into traffic and began to meander its way through the junctions. Jane had been silent since the airport, her perseverance with this silent protest was commendable. That, or Jane had actually lost the ability to talk. Darcy was in the midst of debating this when they pulled up to the very impressive, ostentatious, tower. Their home for the foreseeable future. No one had told them yet why they were moving into the tower. No one spoke to them in the offices, except for ‘sign here, no not there, here’.

  Coulson ushered them through the lobby, towards the last elevator. He swiped a card, then handed it to Darcy, swiped another then gave it Jane.

“This elevator is secured so only those with clearance can access the upper floor living accommodations,” Coulson said as he slipped into the elevator. Darcy followed, leaving Jane stood still just outside. Darcy gently took her hand, gave it a comforting squeeze and pulled her in. She looked like she was about to throw up. Darcy couldn’t decide if it was the fact the she was trying not to get her hopes up that Thor would be there, or if in fact he was there, she was trying to contain her anger.

“Good afternoon Dr foster, Miss Lewis. It is wonderful to finally have you here. I am Jarvis.” Darcy quirked her eyebrow and Coulson, who merely raised his shoulder to half shrug his response.

“Afternoon J – can I call you J, Jarvis?” and then rounding on Coulson, “has anyone ever told you how helpful you are? Cause really, you’re as helpful as wet flannel.”

“You may refer to me however you would like to Miss Lewis,” and after a brief pause, “I thought wet flannels were useful, are they not? Certainly more useful than dry ones.” The omniscient British accent intoned. Darcy blanched. Coulson didn’t do anything as per, and Jane was… possibly in shock now.

“Did the elevator just give me sass?”

“I control the building, not just the elevator Miss Lewis. The elevator really is not special enough to require my entire attention.”

“You are giving me sass!”

“I have learnt that this is the best way to communicate with people who have similar characteristics as Sir.”  Darcy paused.

“We’re going to get on just fine J, call me Darcy,” and with that, the elevator doors opened. On the other side stood a blonde, towering figure. Jane suddenly burst to life, startling both Darcy and Coulson with reanimation, and launched herself at Thor.

  Darcy and Coulson stood back, not wanting to be injured by Thor swinging Jane around. Beyond them, the room opened up into an expansive, high ceiling space. Sofas were dotted sporadically around the room, and the smell of coffee was overwhelming. Gathered around what looked like a breakfast bar area, were, what one would assume to be rest of the Avengers.   


	3. A Fractured Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get everyone on the same day and in the same place, due to Darcy's timezone swap. So apologies for this chapter. It's here to provide some insight into the Avenger's dynamics for this story, and a more depth to Clint's character. I promise, next chapter, the story begins, just gotta lay foundation first! 
> 
> Thank you to all the support so far, I really do appreciate it. I'm losing the will to live because of uni work so your kind words and writing this is keeping me going. Thank you! 
> 
> Let me know what you think!!

 

  The tower was quiet as Clint padded softly down the stairs. The spiral glass staircase was the spine of the Avenger living accommodation, with clear walkways leading off for every floor that he passed. It was the only thing that really connected the team. Sure, they worked together, didn’t mean that they all had to like each other. They had little pockets of camaraderie – Nat would always be his wing woman, so to speak, but that didn’t mean he had to like Bruce. Steve and Tony’s friendship had been fractious since Bucky’s arrival, and Bucky didn’t like anyone except for Steve…so at least that was simple. Tony loved Bruce, Bruce was annoyed by Tony on the best of days; Steve liked Nat, but didn’t trust Clint; Tony liked everyone apart from Thor, and Pepper said that was because when Thor enters the room, Tony is no longer the centre of attention; and Thor…well, Thor was Thor. Clint liked them all from afar, up on his perch where he could watch them in their natural environments. Up close – and this may have had something to do with his predisposition to dislike people – but up close, he couldn’t understand how S.H.I.E.L.D ever hoped that this dysfunctional group of damaged people could ever be a team. Adding Rhodey and Sam into the mix and well… alignments really begin to get messy.

 

  Therefore, with the complicated dynamics taken into account, the staircase really was more symbolic in nature. Clint had hated it when he had first arrived. Both Nat and him, could never relax in such luxury, they had never been allowed to. But on quiet mornings, when everyone was still locked away in their rooms, the first light of the day illuminated the cavernous common room through the windowed wall, that led out onto the balconies. The tender, burnt, first light would refract off of the maze of walkways and the staircase itself, illuminating the room in an array of dancing, diamond lights. The staircase would erupt into a plume of red, orange, and white - a spiral of fire - the walkways shone like veins of gold.

 

  Flicking the coffee machine on, Clint walked over to the balcony doors and opened them. He loved the smell of winter. The cold in the air. It was marred only by the smell of New York below, but it was there, underneath all the petrol and garbage, it was there. Clint stood, letting the gentle breeze slide through his feathers. The cold helped soothe the pain coming from his left wing, where it still hung limply. He twitched it slightly, trying to see if he could fathom a reasonable excuse not to go too medical. His tertiaries, and marginal coverts were beginning to fan and stretch just fine, but the weight of the primaries shot a burning pain that resonated through his chest – _aww, wing, no!_ He tried again, this time aiming to curl it round himself. It shuddered. It hurt. _I hate you._

 

  The coffee machine clicked off, a signal that the jug was full. _At least somethings working for me today,_ he thought. He flashed a grimace at the dejected wing, flicking it in annoyance, only to regret the pain. Grabbing a stool at the bar, Clint began to sip the steaming liquid from the jug. The sun had peaked a little higher over the horizon, and the spiral staircase erupted with light. The juxtaposition between the beauty of the structure, and how it connected a fractured, dark “team” in all its blazon glory, was bittersweet in essence. The diamond refractions littered the room. It was only at sunrise that this happened. Sunset left the staircase barren of colour, cold and fragile. _Just like the Avengers_ , Clint mused. New York had been a momentary highlight. They won, they were great. Since then, they just kept getting it wrong. There was no time to piece themselves back together after, no time for Clint to trust that he was in charge of his own body. It was just one thing after another. It. Didn’t. Stop. Mistakes were being made, and the public was beginning to turn on them, which of course meant turning on each other. Now that London had happened, they would be under more scrutiny – _yay, what’s next._

  After a while, Clint scratched his stubble, and switched the coffee machine back on. His eyes caught the leather band he’d wrapped over his mark. Once the pot was filled again, he returned to his seat. He wasn’t awake enough yet to face medical. He could afford to wait. His eyes returned to his wrist, where his thumb was absently moving over the band with the mark hid underneath. Whilst making a significant dent in the coffee, he weighed his chances of finding his soul mate. His conclusion – that it was highly unlikely given his line of work. That was ok though cause that meant they would beat whatever predestined, fucked up plan fate had for them right? _Right?!_

 

  “How many have you had?” Clint looked up to see Nat leaning against the closest sofa to the bar. _There goes plan D._

“What happened to not sneaking up on people? I thought we’d agreed that that would be a good thing to work on,” Clint sniped, shoving his right hand in the pocket of his sweats, whilst taking another swig from the jug.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Nat just raised a perfect eyebrow. _For once, just miss something eh?_

“Are you my mother?” Clint lowered the jug and feigned shock. “Mom? Is it really you? You could’ve said something sooner! Now I’m hella’ confused about Budapest!” A cushion launched at his face, which he caught and nestled it between him and the bar. “And I feel violated, I’d like to add!”

Nat just laughed as she rounded the counter, and grabbed a mug. She poured the remaining coffee from the jug into it and walked away. Clint pouted.

“If you’ve had enough to be annoying, you have had enough to go to medical,” her gaze rested on his deflated wing. Clint looked over at it, sighed, then raised his eyebrows at Nat.

“Looks fine, don’t know what you mean.” A staring contest ensued, where neither spy moved. This was their game. A game they’d played many times, for numerous reasons.

 

  The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs above alerted them to company, but neither moved to check, not wanting to lose.

“Clint, I’m not an expert but it’s not meant to look like that right?” Tony’s clipped tone filtered down from the floor above as he continued to descend.

“That’s what she said,” Clint replied. Tony chuckled having finally reached the common room floor, and came to a stop between them, glancing back and forth.

“Double entendre I assume, points for effort.”

“You need to go,” Natasha stressed the last part, her eyes never wavering. Tony walked to flick the coffee machine on, and stole the jug from its rightful place in front of Clint.

“It’s fine, it’ll sort itself out. It has a mind of its own, it's sleepy, leave it be!” Clint grumbled. That’s when Tony decided to poke it. Which, for all intents and purposes, was cheating Clint’s and Nat’s game. Clint hissed at the surprise, as Tony straightened, his brows raising, then furrowing again.

“It’s not meant to do that is it,” was all he said. Nat smirked.

“I’m feeling personally attacked here!” Clint rolled his shoulder to relinquish some discomfort. “There’s a lot of negativity in this room, why don’t we sit have some coffee, and talk it over.”

“I see your point, but you won’t want to be here when Cap’ gets down. He’ll just bark orders and you’ll be carted off before you could say ‘but please mom’.” Tony shot back, pouring himself a mug from the fresh brew. “Plus, we have new people arriving today, so you got to be looking sparkly for them.” He wiggled his free hand, the whole sentence dripping with distain.

 

  Clint paused. _New people? But, but, fuck! The plan! How am I supposed to do this?!_

“Who?” Nat asked, grabbing a refill for her mug.

“Dr Foster and her intern. Pepper already wants to steal the intern, so can’t see how that will go down well.” He took a gulp of his coffee and carried on over the rim of his mug. “Mind you, Thor’s going to be a headache till Foster gets here. You might want to disappear just to avoid that.” He looked over at Clint, who was too lost in his reverie, trying to figure if he’d ever spoken either of them when he was in New Mexico.

 

  A sharp pain in his wing, brought him hurtling back to reality.

“Ah fuck!” Tony jittered back, putting space between them. “Why the hell did you do that?” Clint tried to bring his wing closer to him to protect it.

“Well because you were having a nice little space out there,” Tony stated matter-of-factly.

“And to further the point that you need to go too medical,” Nat added as she gracefully lowered herself on to the nearest sofa. Clint sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked back his stool as he rose.

“Yeah, yeah, but if I don’t return ‘cause they’re experimenting on me, don’t bother sending help, just know you put me there!” Nat sighed and rolled her eyes at his retreating form.

“I’ll let PETA know if they do! I got your back buddy!” Tony called after him.

 

  _Jackass,_ Clint thought as he traversed the corridors to medical. He eventually arrived. He glared at the big frosted, glass doors. The smell of disinfectant and foreboding already insulting his senses. With one last sigh, he straightened his posture and put on his best ‘charm the pants right off you’ grin, hoping that this time it would work and they would leave him be. He pushed the button, and the door slid silently open.

 

 

*

  When Clint said he hated medical, he wasn’t exaggerating for effect. He really did despise the place. He was perched on a stool. His favourite black shirt had been cut up because these people just couldn’t wait to get him naked… that, or they just didn’t care when saw the shape he was in and went into emergency mode. He told himself it was the first option, to make himself better. Anything to make himself feel better about himself right now. He’d lost count of how many hands were fussing over him. They were lifting his arms; wrapping his torso; dressing cuts; and dabbing a foul smelling, brown ooze into the cut on his thigh. Meanwhile, a group of particularly curt doctors were running the portable scan over his wings. Every now and then he’d twitch them. It hurt – oh god it hurt! – but their reaction when the image would be ruined due to his movement was worth the pain.

 

  Clint’s thumb was rubbing over his leather band again; it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He was bored. Bored and in pain, and agitated. A very dangerous cocktail where others safety was concerned.

“Doc,” he looked furtively at the young boy with fiery red hair eyeing his wings, stood by the closest computer. _Couldn’t be older than twelve -_ well everyone younger than twenty looked twelve to Clint _._ He schooled his features into a picture of vulnerability, setting his sights on the boy - _Adam?_ ‘Adam’ came closer hesitantly, classic deer-in-headlights look on his face. Clint curled his finger beckoning him closer still, and conspicuously looked around. ‘Adam’ mimicked him, glancing over his shoulder – checking for what? Neither of them knew, but it was funny to watch. Clint kept his face serious, urging the boy closer. There was no way they could have a private conversation: there was one doctor fussing with Clint’s shin; another still wrapping his abdomen; another having way too much fun with the swamp ooze on his thigh; and an entire team still trying to get a decent scan of his wing. Clint twitched again for good measure, and bit the inside of his cheek to stop the grin at their groans.

“I-is everything ok Mr Barton?” ‘Adam’ whispered, his head bowed close. Clint inhaled deeply, preparing his next words carefully.

“Oh yeah, yeah, as good as can be,” he gestured around him, and winked at ‘Adam’. Clint leaned back in again, assuming the need for privacy.

“You see doc this is a bit of a sensitive issue. My friend, we’ll call him Jeff, you see, he well…he turns green.” Clint didn’t think it possible, but ‘Adam’s eyes grew wider. “And you see, he’s having some…oh god, how do I put this…” Clint scratched his head. “He’s having some issues with the little fella… if you know what I mean? Not the green guy, well at least I don’t think he is anyway, but Jeff is for sure. It’s causing him a lot of distress, and when Jeff’s distressed, green guy comes out smashes things…” Clint was looking down, and was acutely aware of how all the hands on him had slowed down considerably, and the noise in the bay had dropped to a whisper. He looked up, searching the paling face of ‘Adam’.

“I don’t want to make a fuss or anything, but y’know, he needs some help… like… immediately.” If they were going to fuck with his wing, and make him sit in medical, _I’ll fuck with them all._ ‘Adam’ nodded his head in a jerking manner, panic evident on his face as he walked away. Clint relaxed back into his stool and waited. He twitched his wing one last time.

 

  If Clint were a betting man – which sometimes he occasionally was – he would put money on Banner hulking out because of the extreme surprise embarrassment at the  suggestion that his manhood was failing him. He felt a little bad for the poor, unsuspecting doctor who had to have that awkward conversation. As it turns out, he didn’t have to wait long to get confirmation of his bet, before Steve came stalking into medical. His jaw set, his eyes scanning. Clint spotted him first, and chuckled to himself. He took a particular joy in rattling the Captain. Then he remembered he couldn’t escape. The team behind him had finally managed to get a decent scan, and had determined that his ulna had dislocated. Just simple procedure of putting it back in they had said. _Simple procedure my ass._ He had been restrained, his wings essentially clipped to keep them still. He couldn’t escape. _Really should’ve planned ahead here._ Steve spotted him, and began to close in on him, grim determination on his face. It was always the look he wore just before he sanctioned Clint for one reason or another.

 

 There was a flash of red just behind Steve’s shoulder. Then a second later, Nat was in front of Steve. Calm and collected. She swiped one of syringes from a tray she passed. It was too quick for the doctors to notice, but Clint did. He knew what she was about to do. He strained against the restraints, nothing was budging. Nat was coming closer, she had a bottle in her hand now, and was extracting the liquid inside it, into the syringe.

“Nat, no, don’t plea-” A sharp sting in the side of his neck shut of his begging. His wide eyes met her emotionless ones. She knew he hated being unconscious. Just like he knew that she struggled to sleep just as much as he did.

“You’ll thank me later.” The sickly sweet lilt to Natasha’s voice did nothing to quell his rising dread. His eyes began to grow heavy and within seconds, he was gone.

 

*

 

  The first thing he noticed was his heartbeat. A heavy solemn thud. His limbs were heavy and his eyes wouldn’t open. _Thud. Thud._ A sharp pain in his right hand, and a distinct ache in his wings. He didn’t know where he was, he had no memory of getting here. He was lying on his back on a cold hard surface. _Thud. Thud. Thud._ Clint started breathing faster to calm his racketing nerves and heart rate. His fight of flight instinct taking over any preconceived notions of rational thought. _Thud, thud, thud, thud._ Voices started to swim into focus. Voices he didn’t recognise. A flash of blue hazed the edges of his panic. _Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud._ He tried his limbs again, his joints heavy as he bent them minutely. His breathing calmed. _Not again. Never again._ The air next to Clint was disturbed by the presence of someone coming to stand on his right. The slight change raised the hairs on his arms, his senses ultra-aware. Slowly he tucked his wings to him, his left wing burning from the weight.

“He’s coming around.”

_Thud._

Clint popped his eyes open. He pushed up and brought his knees to his chest to get some leverage. Simultaneously, his right arm snapped out, hitting the person on his right square in the chest with an open palm. The force from the unexpected blow knocked the lab coat to the ground. A second lab coat hurtled forward from Clint’s left, a third rushing over from the right to replace the first. Clint slid off the table to meet the lab coat on the left, kicking him on the side of the jaw. Simultaneously, he swivelled to push the hard structure he’d been lying on into the third lab coat, causing him to fall.

“Barton!” Clint wrapped his hand around the nearest tool tray, not hearing his name, and swung it at the next lab coat.

“CLINT!” He followed the motion over the swing, gathering momentum while turning to hit the body rushing him behind…Natasha blocked his blow.

“Clint for Christ sake!” What came next was a messy flurry of blows from both parties. Clint lost. He ended up face pressed into the floor, a knee on the back of his neck, and his left arm in a painful lock behind him.

“Stand down Barton, you’re safe.” Clint blinked once. Twice. His heart rate started to slow, and he took a deep breath.

 _What the fuck have I done._ Straining against the body lock, Nat had put him in, Clint looked around. He had no memory of getting in this position, and he had no recollection of why the doctors were all sprawled on the floor.

  Groaning, Clint dropped his forehead against the cold tiled floor.

“Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely. Natasha slowly relinquished the locks, and gently eased his arm down. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

“It happens to the best of us,” she said quietly.

“We cannot delay a psych evaluation any longer Agent Romanoff.” Clint turned over, still lying on the floor, to see a haughty blonde doctor square up to Nat. Looking over her shoulder at Clint, Nat let her mask slip. She was apologising. More than likely she would say it later. Clint raised his eyebrow. Nat dipped her chin, and turned back to blonde doc.

“Set it up for tomorrow,” was all Nat said, before dismissing blonde doc to help Clint up, and herding him out of medical entirely.

 

  It wasn’t till they were back in the common room that Clint spoke. He headed straight for the coffee machine and turned it on.

“At what point was putting me under a good idea Nat?”

“The point where you sent Alex to get beaten up by the hulk!”

“But putting me under didn’t change anything that happened with the hulk! It was after the fact!”

“It was a preventative measure!”

“And why the fuck should I thank you?” Clint stepped forward and planted his hands on the bench between them.

“Because Steve was going to lose it with you!”

“Pfft, Steve can’t lose his virginity, don’t mock me!”

“Oh my god! You fucked up Barton, that kid is in hospital now!”

“I was in hospital Nat!”

“So what everyone else has to suffer too?!”

“YES NAT! ‘CAUSE I CAN’T DO THIS BY MYSELF!” Clint’s breath was ragged, and his knuckles white from gripping the counter. Nat flinched from the sudden volume change. Sure she’d seen Clint shout before, and she was used to people shouting at her. But never Clint.

“Then why do you insist on pushing everyone away Barton?” They both looked up, and peaking over one of the walkway rails was Steve’s head.

“Oh for fuck sake,” Clint muttered, turning to pour himself and Nat a cup of the fresh brew.

“I’ve got this Steve,” Nat called up.

“You definitely don’t,” quipped Tony as he strutted in through one of corridors that led to his lab. He reached for the coffee pot, and helped himself.

 

  Steve was descending the stairs quickly. Clint scowled at Nat, because really, _fuck her._ They both knew that they squabbled like siblings, but today was a really shit day, and judging by the afternoon light in the room he’d been unconscious for most of it. Clint amounted it all to being Nat’s fault. Not his. He knew he was being a jackass, but she knew he was struggling with the whole flashback thing. Yet, she still put him under anyway. He knew it was because she was pissed personally about the prank, given her close relations with Banner. He knew that that was her way of hurting him. _Jesus, this escalated quickly._ He knew he behaved like a child, wanting to hurt the others because Christ! His mind was a mess, his body was just a pile of hurt, and his heart ached from its new place on his wrist. Coulson used to say that people had different levels of stress that they could deal with, and Clint used to muse where his limit was. _Now I know. Fuck this._

 

“What is going on?” Thor appeared from the left, coming in from the balcony looking windswept. Steve had reached the bottom of the stairs now and the room was filled with tension.

“Ask Clint,” Steve dismissively replied, locking eyes with Clint.

“Fuck you,” Clint spat back.

“Clinton?” Thor queried, coming to lean against the breakfast bar.

“Has anyone seen Bruce?” Tony asked taking a sip from his coffee.

“Present,” Bruce’s voice came from the direction of the elevator. He rounded the corner, surveyed the scene, his eyes resting on Clint. Taking a deep, calming breath, he padded over to Natasha, a settled against the sofa.

“Well isn’t this lovely, the whole family is here,” Tony nonchalantly stated, surveying the group.

“I still do not know what has taken place,” Thor said, crossing his arms and looking very disapproving in his godly ways.

“Clint decided to kill the doctors just because he hates them,” Bruce intoned, clenching his teeth. Nat placed a hand on his forearm without looking at him.

“How can you even justify your actions?” Steve snapped. Tony had gone still, his eyes flitting between Bruce and Steve.

“Guess you haven’t heard what happened to the rest of them then?” Bruce and Steve jerked their gazes to Tony.

“It’s no justification or excusal, but there was a little moment upon awakening,” Tony continued. “Price has a broken jaw; Sallis has two broken ribs and Philips has a chipped tooth curtesy of a tray, or so I’m told.” Tony raised his mug to Clint and winked, a gentle smile dancing over his lips, “I never liked Price.”

 

  Silence stretched and tension mounted. Clint wanted to run. _Fuck the fucking Avengers, they don’t need me anyway._

“If I may interrupt, Agent Coulson has just arrived with Doctor Foster and Miss Lewis.” Jarvis’ voice echoed around the very still room. Steve was looking at his feet, his jaw muscle popping. Bruce’s face was set grimly, his eyes softened. Nat was focused on Clint, her face impassive.

“If you hurt this Doctor, I will end you,” Thor said to Clint as he passed. His tone was harsh, but the hand he placed to the back of Clint’s head, bringing him in for a brief hug said otherwise. Thor continued and waited by the elevator. Clint emptied the dregs of the coffee jug down the sink drain, and turned the machine on again. Then they stood in silence, all too awkward to say anything, _SHIELD thinks we can save the world – what a joke! Can’t even save each other!_

  The elevator doors pinged open, and the squawk from the woman flying into Thor’s arms, startled them all. Beyond that, stood Coulson, and next to him was Darcy Lewis. Clint recognised her from New Mexico. She looked different from what he remembered. He couldn’t place what it was. Her hair still fell in that tumbling chocolate way that made his fingers itch even back then. Her big, brown eyes still held the secrets of the world in them. Her lips, still… _god I’m screwed._ Then she focused on him, and he gulped. He was damn sure they’d never spoken before. He was also pretty certain that he would never be lucky enough to have her be his soul mate. However, fate’s is a fucked up bitch, and knowing the way his day was going, it would be her, and then she would die…somehow…today… _Steve and Banner are in a pretty bad mood._ Therefore, he decided that to save his dignity and possibly her life, he was going to implement plan a – Don’t talk.

 

As Darcy and Coulson slipped past Thor and Jane, and started coming toward the bar, Clint gulped.

 

_I never said I was smart._

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me your thoughts! Constructive criticism and pointers welcome. Of course, if you're going to leave love, I'll love you back!


End file.
